This weeks spam poetry comes from Rickie Bowers (bcure@1manarmystudios.com),
who took time out from trying to sell me a knock-off copy of Photoshop
CS3 to offer this wonderful gibberish:
I seek, above all, in the wandering
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Of observation lying on the ground
Are gliding toward me on the ice into
Would their world not remain comfortably
A salamander scuttles across the quiet
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
Standing in the way of the truth. A white
That patch of white at the very end of the road
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
The road, but not far enough ahead
Against which we have been projected? What . . .
Life, or only joy, that stands out
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Genius, sir. Sheer genius.
This weeks spam poetry comes from Rickie Bowers (bcure@1manarmystudios.com),
who took time out from trying to sell me a knock-off copy of Photoshop
CS3 to offer this wonderful gibberish:
I seek, above all, in the wandering
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Of observation lying on the ground
Are gliding toward me on the ice into
Would their world not remain comfortably
A salamander scuttles across the quiet
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
Standing in the way of the truth. A white
That patch of white at the very end of the road
And up there I cannot tell if it is still
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
The road, but not far enough ahead
Against which we have been projected? What . . .
Life, or only joy, that stands out
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Genius, sir. Sheer genius.
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